Like a Wisp of Steam: Steampunk Erotica
Page 7
Victoria still squirmed and pulled against the leather restraints, but her moans and screams had turned to gasps of pleasure. She realized with embarrassment that she had begun to utter Charles's name, but she found that she could not stop.
Then there was Charles's touch again, underneath the throbbing hum of the vibrating wand. His fingers. Probing.
Teasing. Parting her nether lips. Two fingers pushing inside her body, stroking her maidenhead.
"Hold, Miss Brook," Charles ejaculated nervously.
Clara let out a sorrowful moan, but managed to stop pedaling. Her dress was now extremely rumpled, and she appeared to be sheened with a thin film of sweat. Her eyes gazed dully at the squirming Victoria and her mouth hung open as she panted unstoppably.
"Victoria," said Charles sternly. "I don't wish to get more personal than is necessary. But am I correct in thinking that you and Arthur have not..."
Charles's fingers were still inside Victoria, stroking that place where Arthur had never been. Victoria's moans and whimpers rose in pitch even without the stimulation of the vibrating wand. She stared at Charles with surrender, tears filling her eyes.
"You and Arthur have not had marital relations?"
Victoria quivered. "He lets me use my mouth sometimes."
It was the doctor's turn to blush. He shook his head sadly.
"That certainly could contribute to your condition, Victoria.
I understand that Arthur is a man of atypical needs, but a young woman such as you can't survive like this without risking dire psychological and physical consequences. With your permission, I would like to perform a small procedure that will ... correct your condition."
Victoria's eyes fluttered and she let out an uncontrolled moan. "Yes, yes, yes," she gasped.
"Miss Brook?" snapped Charles.
"Oh ... Yes, Doctor?" moaned Clara, plainly having some difficulty focusing on the doctor's orders.
"Please bring me the number two molded prosthesis," said Charles, and Victoria shuddered as Clara raced out of the room to fulfill Charles's request.
Charles's fingers still rested slightly inside Victoria's sex, and she quivered and moaned as he continued to massage her insides.
"No trouble at all," cooed Charles soothingly. "This won't hurt a bit, my dear, and then you'll be all better."
Clara appeared again holding a bottle of liquid and what appeared to Victoria to be a curiously-shaped riding horn. "Oh dear," Victoria whimpered as she realized that it was not a riding horn at all. In fact, it appeared to be made of leather and ... Victoria simply couldn't think such a thought. She stared at the instrument with a look of horror on her face.
"Miss Brook," growled Charles sternly. "It's unseemly to let the patient see the instruments before application."
"Yes, Doctor," said the chastened Clara, who handed Charles the instrument and once more mounted the bicycle.
"Begin," ordered Charles, and Victoria moaned uncontrollably as Clara began to pedal. The seething vibrations once more began in the vibrating wand, which Charles was deftly applying to Victoria's sex. As the quickening began inside her and her pleasure began to mount, Victoria felt pressure in the teasing thickness at the entrance to her sex, the very opening of her womanhood, where Charles had previously applied his two fingers. Now Charles was entering her with a single finger, which probed and prodded at the place where her maidenhead barred the entrance to her femaleness. Then the doctor applied a second finger, teasing her open, parting her most private spot, readying her for the next stage.
Charles spoke with a tenderness he hadn't yet used with Victoria. There was something so soothing, so gentle, so seductive about the richness of his voice now. "Just relax, my dear Victoria. You're under my care, completely in my control.
This is a medical procedure, and you're fully safe in my hands..."
Meanwhile, his fingers were stroking, penetrating, opening her further. Victoria moaned in unexpected pleasure, mingled with the horror of her position. She was helpless at the hands of her doctor, who was about to divest her of her virginity.
Certainly she should have been divested of it long ago, when she and Arthur had first married, but since he'd shown no interest, Victoria had remained in this undeflowered state until now—but no longer.
For she was about to be taken, strapped bodily into this seat with her legs spread and with curious sensations of pleasure filling her body. Good God, Victoria thought to herself. I feel as if I'll be ill ... I feel spasms coming on.
Then, as Charles's fingers gently opened her up, Victoria gasped to feel the thickness of the "riding horn," which she now realized was ... was ... Oh, she couldn't think it. She couldn't even imagine such a thing. And even so, the sensation was so delicious. It was like being taken roughly by her husband, without the untidy business of his disinterest.
And certainly Victoria was not to become pregnant with this procedure, was she?
Victoria squirmed in her bonds, seized with the sudden desire to break away and run from this unacceptable intrusion into the most secret places in her body. Then, as Charles spoke to her, Victoria felt herself succumbing, surrendering, giving herself over to the unforgiving interior caress of the doctor's firm instrument.
"Take a deep breath, my dear," Charles said to Victoria in his most soothing tone. "A deep breath..."
"Oh God! Yes!" The unexpected shriek came from Miss Clara Brook, who was wildly riding the stationary bicycle, pumping faster and faster as she shuddered and bounced on the narrow seat. Her dress was looking quite worse for wear, almost lifted off the lower half of her body. Her moans and shrieks grew louder as she pumped faster, and sent a new intensity of vibrations into the curious wand still being held at the top of Victoria's sex by the firm hand of Dr. Charles Fitzmartin. This brought a new series of gasps and moans from Victoria's lips, as the sensations in her body suddenly increased in intensity.
"Keep pedaling, Miss Brook," snarled Charles uncharitably.
"It won't do to stop the treatment now, you tawdry bitch. It would be complete disaster!"
Quite unexpectedly, a shudder went through Victoria's body at the sound of Charles using such rough language.
Charles quickly changed his tone.
"Forgive me, Victoria," he said smoothly. "I forgot myself.
She can be so difficult sometimes."
"Don't mention it," Victoria heard herself mumbling as Clara launched herself into her task with a brand new enthusiasm. Within seconds, Victoria found herself completely incapable of further reply.
Then Charles was coaxing her further, his gentle voice caressing her ears as he instructed her to take a deep breath and then let it out. Another breath. Another. "We're very close now, Victoria ... Very close ... Just relax..."
Then, with her fourth exhalation, there was the gentle yet forcible thrust of the doctor's instrument inside Victoria, stretching her open, penetrating her maidenhead, entering her utterly. Writhing in her restraints, Victoria let out a loud, low moan of pleasure. And as Charles thrust the shaft to its maximum depth inside her, Victoria began to thrash wildly, as an unexpected sensation came over her.
It seemed like a wholly new experience, though she remembered it from the depths of her girlhood fantasies. She could recall this very same sensation, this feeling of release, from her long summer afternoons fantasizing about Dr.Fitzmartin, in the days of her fondest crush on the good doctor. Was there some connection?
Victoria certainly didn't care. She was entirely swept away with the explosion of pleasure inside her, and it was as if another woman entirely were screaming the words "Fuck oh fuck oh fuck me god damn you fuck me harder you fucking prick fuck me with your cock oh fuck me." Another woman entirely. Was it also another woman bucking her hips against the leather belt, trying to pump the thick member deeper inside her womanhood, trying to force its thick, thrusting pleasure permanently into her body? All so she would experience this heavenly sensation forever, constantly being penetrated by the good docto
r's succulent rod.
Victoria felt a bolt of fear as the sensation slowly declined and she realized that, no, it certainly was not another woman uttering those lewd and sinful comments.
It was her.
Though Victoria supposed it was possible that Miss Clara Brook had uttered a few comments of her own—certainly Clara looked worn out, as if she'd been screaming her head off. Were a few of those moans Clara's? Or had it been only Victoria screaming like that?
There was not really any way to tell.
"Good enough, Miss Brook," Charles was saying unsteadily, and Victoria realized that he had removed the instrument from inside her. The thick object—which Victoria could only now admit was phallic in shape—was covered with the lubricant the doctor had used, mingled with what appeared to be Victoria's blood and, perhaps, the juices of her body.
Victoria blushed uncontrollably, lowering her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at Charles after letting him see her in such an unflattering state. But lowering her eyes brought Victoria's gaze in line with the lower part of the doctor's body—and the striking bulge issuing from his lower parts. But Victoria's greatest shock was that the bulge in the doctor's pants was capped with a dark, moist stain.
Victoria gasped. That wasn't possible, was it? It couldn't be... could it?
She lifted her eyes and met Charles's, and saw in their intimate warmth and glow that, in fact, her suspicions were true. Charles had led her down a dark and sinful path, all fully sanitized by modern medicine.
"Eh, what? Come on here, must be someone around, righto?" Victoria heard a pounding on the door of the examination room. It was Arthur, come to collect his wife.
"Sorry to be a bit late, Doctor," shouted Arthur through the door. "Didn't make it home. Just stopped off at the tea-house for a quick nibble. Did my wife make it out all right?"
The rather ruffled Clara Brook tried desperately to straighten her too-tight dress, then quickly hustled out the door. Victoria heard Clara's voice soothing Arthur. "She'll be out in just a moment ... The procedure went very well, Mr.Barker, but it took just a wee bit more time than we anticipated. Please, I'll see to you in the waiting room and we can finish with all that business about the doctor's fee, can't we?"
Victoria still held Charles's eyes with her own, and she heard herself speaking in a hushed, seductive tone that she didn't know she possessed.
"Thank you, Doctor. I don't know how to make it up to you."
Charles looked at the floor, his face reddening. "Not at all, Mrs. Barker. I enjoy my calling." Then, as if to squelch any momentary fantasies Victoria might have, Charles quickly murmured "It's merely a profession."
Victoria's heart swelled and tears formed in her eyes, even as she heard the doctor continue.
"Of course, in severe cases of hysteria, such as yours, repeated vibratory treatment may be necessary. Perhaps three times a week for ... Oh, six months or so?"
Victoria's tear-filled eyes went wide, and she gave a little shudder of excitement and choked back a sob of pure happiness.
"If you think so, Doctor."
"I'll have a chat with Arthur about the fee. Certainly we can strike a deal, since frequent sessions will be necessary—
to prevent relapse, you understand."
"Oh, I understand," Victoria said—too quickly, she thought.
She nodded fervently.
"For at least ... The first year."
"Year?" gasped Victoria, as Charles quickly stood and buttoned his long white coat across his moisture-stained pants.
"Or two," said Charles nervously.
"No problem about the fee, eh?" It was Arthur's booming voice from the reception desk outside. "No treatment's too expensive to keep my little petunia happy!"
"I'll call Clara in to help you dress," said Charles as he helped Victoria to stand.
Victoria heard herself giggling slightly, a highly uncharacteristic utterance of mirth.
"No need!" she cried, and slipped out of the chair.
Charles stared, confounded, at Victoria as she bounded across the room to gather her things and dress.
It was as if she'd been given a new lease on life.
Charles dabbed at his moistening eye with the corner of his sleeve. Oh, how he adored the science of medicine.
In the Flask
Vanessa Vaughn
My hand pulled the delicate glass flask into place as Dr.Aubrey positioned a tube directly above it. His fingers inched closer to mine, but I dared not touch them. Instead, I steadied myself. When he was this near, I felt nothing but confusion, simultaneously drawn toward him and held at a distance. We were like two magnets with the same polarization, hovering close but pushed apart by a stronger invisible force.
"Nicholas," he said in a low voice. "Fetch me the copper wire. I need to secure this properly." Quickly, I obeyed, hurrying to the other end of the laboratory and returning with a spool of thin wire and a pair of heavy scissors. The doctor measured out an appropriate length and held it out for me to cut. He then sat back at the wide table again and leaned over the complicated apparatus, attaching the wire to the thick rubber tube. "You know, Nicholas," he said, using his pliers to twist the copper carefully. "We really must get you a lab coat if you are going to be a proper assistant."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I said. Usually, the doctor was not renowned for his kind treatment of his students—or even his colleagues for that matter. In fact, he treated most of his former assistants with what could only be described as indifference; so I smiled at this comment, happy for any recognition. He must intend to keep me on a while longer if he means to dress me for the role, I thought.
I had been there only a handful of months, arriving just after Dr. Aubrey had received his latest research grant from the Royal College. Even before I had seen him in the flesh, I knew him by reputation and had been eager to join him in his work.
Like many nowadays, I was convinced that science was indeed the tool with which we would cure all of society's ills.
Murder, aggressiveness, sexual impulses, greed—all of this and more we scientists would no doubt eventually expel.
Mysteries of the brain, the body's chemicals, electric pulses, and tissues were all under the gaze of science's perpetually-improving microscopes and lenses. Yes, there were important strides being made in all academic disciplines, but the mind—how to understand and control it—was receiving an unprecedented amount of attention. Universities, as well as Her Majesty's Government, had been funding all areas of mental research at astounding levels unheard of until now.
Mesmerism, phrenetics, brain dissection, and in our case, chemistry, were all being employed to help create the sort of peaceful, chaste, and proper society any man would want for himself and his family.
"Well, that does it," Dr. Aubrey said with relief, pulling himself into an upright position and returning his pliers to the finely crafted leather tool belt at his waist. The belt was already filled with every manner of instrument ranging from simple hammers and stoppers for vials and beakers of every shape and size to bizarre devices of twisted metal, designed to trim the ends of protruding hoses and scrape strange compounds from the bottoms of flasks. Somehow, however, he managed to push the pliers easily into their proper place.
He brought himself to his feet, leaning casually against the table. I watched his hands again as he removed a small notebook from his pocket and penciled a few short notations.
His stance was always so sure, so confident. This man looked more like a soldier than an academic, wide shoulders giving way to hard muscular arms. And those hands. Well, no doubt I had imagined their touch often enough.
The doctor looked up and issued some more instructions to me. As he did, I stared back into those eyes. They were palest blue framed by lashes of dark inky black. It was the contrast between those two extremes of color, light and dark, which always entranced me. They made his face both beautiful and fierce, at once tender and aggressive. We looked at one another for a long moment,
unflinching, and then I felt suddenly self-conscious, almost ashamed. I felt he could surely guess my thoughts, lascivious as they were. I pictured skin against skin, the hard press of his lips on mine, how his muscles would feel as he leaned me against the wall and pushed his way slowly inside of me, the handsome master and his willing university pupil.
My face flushed pink. I turned quickly, moving to gather the ingredients he requested, and the spell was broken. I was usually careful not to let my gaze linger too long, but still he must have sensed my preoccupation with him. I was sure of it. Too often now, we would stand, shoulders just a little too close together, arms only a few centimeters apart. We would hold one another's eye a moment too long. We would go too far, but still not far enough.
After all, it was just this sort of temptation we were working to prevent. The goal of these experiments—though we had not accomplished it yet—was to discover a compound for the repression of sexual urges. Such urges, of course, were the source of many societal ills. Dr. Aubrey would be widely celebrated indeed for such a find.
I was attentive as the doctor explained my instructions.
"Nicholas," he said, "I will be gone for a few hours. In the meantime, you must feed her." By "her" he meant the experiment, of course. He talked of his machine as a sailor would speak of his ship, in only the feminine, commanding the utmost respect. To an outside observer, it was a puzzling device, a tangle of hoses, droppers, large glass bubbles collecting condensation, a burner, and a large steam-powered fan for re-cooling the evaporated particles. To others, this overly elaborate collection of scientific instruments might suggest something that only a madman would construct; but, to him, this set-up promised only the alluring possibility of new discoveries.
"Yes, sir," I replied. I sounded calm, but was eager to impress and ecstatic to be left with such a responsibility, even for a short time.
He combined the ingredients I had fetched for him, mixing the powders together in a beaker, and then adding an alcohol base to produce a simple liquid tincture. He held it to the light and stirred it with a thin glass rod from his belt, then handed the dark red mixture to me. "Here's the next compound to test," he said. He opened his small notebook again, scribbling a few notations. "Let's see. Compound ... Compound number four-six-one. You know what to do. Pour a little more of the mixture in every thirty minutes, keep the fan turning, and leave the collection flask in place. If I don't return by midnight, test it on the rats yourself." I nodded, and Dr.